The following day, I waited for Kallen at the designated meeting point—the primary entrance to the commercial district.
A moment later, a flash of familiar crimson hair appeared in the distance. However, her choice of attire was... unexpected.
"What do you think? Functional, isn't it?"
Kallen stood before me stripped of her sickly aristocratic facade. She wore an oversized hoodie, rugged denim jeans, and a pair of well-worn sneakers.
"...."
I maintained a look of feigned disappointment, yet internally, I was triumphant. While the sight of Kallen in a delicate dress had its charms, this version of her—the one that revealed her true self without reservation—was far more compelling. More importantly, it was undeniable proof that she was finally lowering her guard and allowing me into her world.
"So, I finally get to see the real you. It suits you far better than the masks you wear at school."
At my remark, Kallen rubbed her nose, a flicker of bashfulness crossing her features.
"Hmph. You asked for a tour of the Ghetto. One doesn't exactly navigate that squalor in a skirt."
She was testing me, that much was certain. By exposing the visceral, wretched reality of the Japanese people hidden behind the gilded opulence of Britannia, she intended to discern my true nature. Was I merely approaching her out of a sense of shallow, patronizing pity, or was I truly prepared to comprehend the gravity of her reality?
We pulled our hoods low and descended into the Ghetto.
The landscape was a testament to Imperial hubris: crumbling skeletons of buildings, the hollow gazes of a people who had long since surrendered to despair, and the ever-present, suffocating shadow of the Britannian military's iron-fisted rule.
"This is the Shinjuku Ghetto. The landfill where Britannia discards everything it no longer finds useful."
Kallen's voice was detached, yet it carried an agonizing weight as she laid bare the grim reality of the district.
"Tell me, as a Britannian... what goes through your mind when you look upon this?"
Kallen stared at me, her gaze piercing and inquisitive. After a brief hesitation, I offered her my unvarnished truth.
"...It is abhorrent. This is the Britannian way: the strong trampling the weak beneath their heels. But simply because it is their way does not mean I consider it righteous."
For a moment, Kallen looked genuinely taken aback.
"But you are a Britannian yourself."
"Blood does not dictate morality. One does not need to be the victim to recognize an injustice. Kallen, why do you persist in such a perilous endeavor? With the influence of the Stadtfeld family, you could easily secure a life of luxury and indolence."
Kallen fell silent at my inquiry. After a heavy pause, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"...It was for my brother."
"Your brother?"
"Yes. I had an elder brother. He died at the hands of those Britannian bastards while trying to protect our Japanese pride. I am merely carrying out his legacy. And... I want to create a world where my mother can live with dignity, not as some hidden shame."
Her voice trembled, but the fire in her eyes was incandescent.
I offered no platitudes or hollow comforts. I simply listened in silence, knowing that my witness was the only respect she required.
"Setting that aside, where did you learn to handle a firearm like that? Your form the other day was far beyond that of a mere amateur."
Kallen changed the subject, seeking to dispel the heavy atmosphere. I realized it was finally time to deploy the explanation I had meticulously prepared.
"Oh, that? Truthfully, I've always possessed a keen interest in military science..."
Suddenly, the sharp static of a radio erupted from within Kallen's clothes.
[Bzzzt... Kallen! Do you copy?! It's Ohgi!]
Ohgi's voice was frantic, laced with urgent panic.
"I'm here, Ohgi-san! What's happening?"
[Disaster! A radical faction has engaged the military! The situation is deteriorating rapidly. Stay away from this sector at all costs!]
"What?! Where are you? I'm coming to assist!"
[No! Do not— Bzzzt... Rat-tat-tat-tat!]
The transmission cut off into a void of static. Kallen hammered on the device in desperation, but there was no further response.
"Dammit! Ohgi-san!"
I lunged forward, catching her by the arm.
"Kallen! Calm yourself! Charging in blindly is a death sentence. We need to assess the tactical situation—"
"Let me go! My comrades are being slaughtered!"
As Kallen screamed, a thunderous roar echoed through the concrete canyons. A massive explosion erupted in the distance, sending a column of obsidian smoke spiraling toward the heavens.
"Ohgi-san!"
Kallen violently wrenched her arm free and sprinted toward the heart of the blast. I stared at her receding figure for a heartbeat before gritting my teeth and giving chase.
"Tch... This variable was not in my calculations! Damn it all!"
However, my physical constitution—utterly wretched compared to that of a Knightmare Frame pilot—made it impossible to keep pace. The distance between us widened with every step until my lungs burned with the fire of a thousand suns.
"Haa... haa... Curse this... worthless body! I engage in calisthenics every day, and yet I'm still this pathetic?!"
As I rounded an alley corner, I collided head-on with a figure sprinting from the opposite direction.
"Gah!"
We became a chaotic tangle of limbs as we tumbled onto the cold pavement.
As my vision cleared, I noticed a black object lying inches from my hand. It was a military-grade assault rifle. My counterpart—a soldier clad in the distinctive uniform of the Britannian Army—stared at me with wide, fear-stricken eyes that quickly curdled into murderous spite as he reached for the pistol at his hip.
"You... you filthy Eleven!"
As his fingers brushed the grip of his sidearm, a primal alarm shrieked within my mind.
I am going to die.
Reason vanished, replaced by the cold, mechanical imperative of survival.
Reflexively, I seized the discarded rifle and pulled the trigger without a moment's hesitation.
Bang! Bang!
The dull reports of the rifle echoed as the soldier was hurled backward, crimson gore erupting from his chest.
"...."
I stood there, paralyzed, the vibrating heat of the rifle still tingling in my hands. My palms were slick with sweat, and my vision swam in a dizzying haze.
I... I just killed a man.
Though I possessed the memories of a soldier from my previous life, I had never faced the visceral reality of combat. This was no simulation, no game. This was my first act of homicide. As I stood in a daze, the sound of approaching voices drifted from the other end of the alleyway.
"Gunshots! Over there!"
A group of Japanese resistance fighters appeared. Upon seeing the dead soldier, they spat on the corpse, kicking it with unrestrained malice before looting his sidearm.
"Serves you right, you Imperial dog."
"Good riddance to Britannian filth."
"Hey, did you do this, kid? Not bad."
One of the Elevens snickered at me. The sight of their casual brutality toward the dead made my stomach churn with renewed intensity.
"There! The Elevens are in the alley!"
A contingent of Britannian reinforcements suddenly rounded the corner, and the narrow passage instantly transformed into a maelstrom of gunfire. I fled, directionless, driven purely by the frantic instinct to stay alive through the labyrinthine streets.
It wasn't until I reached a desolate clearing that I finally slumped against a wall and emptied the contents of my stomach. I wretched until I was bringing up nothing but bitter bile, my breath coming in ragged gasps. A cynical, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I had thought myself prepared for this world, but the crushing weight of reality was far beyond my most morbid imaginings.
Then, I sensed a presence in the shadows of a nearby building. Steeling my nerves, I crept forward to find a massive steel titan—a Glasgow Knightmare Frame—towering over the rubble.
"Ugh, what a nuisance. Why can't we just glass the whole sector and be done with it? Why am I stuck on mop-up duty?"
The pilot had disembarked, leaning against the machine's leg with a cigarette in hand, his posture radiating a total lack of vigilance. It was the opening I needed.
'The only ones who should kill are those who are prepared to be killed.'
I whispered the iconic words of the original Lelouch, forcing my lips into a dark, calculated smirk to banish the lingering tremors of fear. I raised my rifle and closed the distance.
"Hands where I can see them."
My voice was a razor of cold steel. The man spun around, his face pale with shock.
"Wh-who are you?!"
"Move and you die."
To punctuate the threat, I fired a round into the dirt at his feet. Crack! As he raised his trembling hands, I calmly dictated my terms.
"The sidearm. Remove it slowly and drop it on the ground."
"A-alright! Don't shoot! I'm doing it!"
The man reached for his holster, but his eyes shifted with a sudden, desperate glint. He intended to draw and fire in one motion. However, I read his killing intent before his muscles could even twitch; my bullet pierced his palm a fraction of a second later.
Bang!
"GAAAAH!"
As he dropped the pistol, howling in agony, I maintained my distance and shouted over his screams.
"The Knightmare key. Give it to me."
"Here... it's right here!"
The man threw a small electronic key from his pocket with his bloodied hand.
"And the passcode."
"...."
When he hesitated, I shifted my aim and shattered his other arm.
"AAAAAGH! I'll tell you! I'll tell you! It's 8462! 8462!"
With the code secured, I backed toward the Knightmare. Before mounting the cockpit, I leveled my rifle at him one final time. The man began to blubber, pleading for his life.
"Please! Spare me! I did everything you asked!"
"My apologies. But if I leave you alive, you become a liability. My identity cannot be compromised."
Bang!
Thud.
The gunfire ceased, and with it, the man's life. I scrambled into the cockpit like a man possessed, slamming the hatch shut behind me.
"Urgh..."
The urge to vomit returned. The cramped interior of the cockpit was heavy with the metallic scent of blood clinging to my skin. I rubbed my hands against my clothes with manic intensity, but the phantom sensation of the cold trigger and the copper tang of death refused to wash away.
I killed them. I looked into the eyes of a man begging for mercy and I ended him.
"They... they were destined to die anyway. In the original timeline, these men were irrelevant casualties. Even if it wasn't by my hand, they would have perished. Therefore..."
I gripped the control yokes with blood-stained hands. However, as I stared at the pilot's console, my mind momentarily blanked. I was greeted by an overwhelming array of switches, levers, and multi-function displays.
"Dammit... I don't know the first thing about these schematics."
I had seen the anime a thousand times, but I had never touched a physical cockpit. Yet, I could not turn back now. I took a deep, steadying breath and closed my eyes.
"It shouldn't be that different from a car... or a flight sim. I've logged enough hours in Armored Core to be a Nine Breaker. Let's see if that translates to the real world!"
Uttering a ridiculous boast to bolster my shattered resolve, I engaged the primary ignition.
"Move for me, you heap of scrap metal!"
The Yggdrasil Drive hummed to life, and the Glasgow's monitors flared with a brilliant, predatory light.